


flowers, red and green

by codesandhearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic, F/M, M/M, V-shaped polyamory, space latinxs!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8953786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codesandhearts/pseuds/codesandhearts
Summary: “You’ve been doing this for twenty years. It’s not wrong to want a break.”Twenty years.“Where will we go?” Cassian asks and it feels like defeat. shara bey rescues the rogue one crew and lets them rest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my children deserve a break.

She sees the bright light approaching from the horizon and knows she might not make it back. In her ear, her commanding officer is yelling for her to pull out, to jump back into hyperspace and join the rest of the squadron but there’s no way she’s leaving when she sees people that need saving. And she does see them, five figures huddled together on the beach like they know, they know, in a few seconds the bright light will consume them and they might as well die together.

She lands her X-Wing on the sand, doesn’t even hesitate in going out and grabbing all of them by the arms and hauling ass back to the plane. All of them are groggy, completely out of it, and offer no resistance. Their faces are blank, edged with a tiny bit of surprise, as if saying, _we’re supposed to die, why aren’t we dead?_

She yells to her CO over the comm, “I’m on it! I’m on it!” and lifts her control, bringing them into the blue, smoky skies of Scarif. Her lips utter a quick prayer before she jumps into her hyperspace, lulled into a quiet contemplation by the heavy breathing of the five remaining members of Rogue One.

Belatedly, she remembers promising her husband to not bring home any more strays.

 

Cassian wakes up the first time to a throbbing headache and a memory.

He is eight, at the base, when he hears that both of his parents have died. He looks up to the larger than life people he has surrounded himself with for the past two years. Through the silence of everyone, he finds no sadness in the corpses of his parents. He already has a base full of people who already love him.

He is ten and his birthday present is a piloting lesson in a rundown X-Wing. The person teaching him is a brown-skinned humanoid who tells him slowly, in an accented voice, about all the controls he should and shouldn’t be touching. The X-Wing has an old musky smell and the gloves he’s wearing are almost ashen in their age but they fit him. He vaguely remembers hearing that the only reason he got the lesson this early is because of his growth spurt. His legs finally can stretch out in the cockpit.

He is eleven and a precision rifle fits perfectly in his hands. He touches the grooves of it, the curves and shiny edges. It’s initially stolen but one of the older Generals look at him with a raised eyebrow and says nothing, letting him keep it.

He is sixteen and he knows what death feels like when you’re the one delivering it.

He is still sixteen when he finds he loses no sleep over it.

He is twenty-three and people call him Captain.

He is twenty-five and finds a best friend in a reprogrammed Imperial droid. He tries not to think about how lonely that makes him.

He is twenty-six. The rough sands of Scarif scratch his skin but the discomfort is secondary to holding Jyn close to his body, to the sounds of Bodhi breathing next to him, to the silent tears running down Chirrut’s face as Baze touches him so achingly gentle that he is certain love like that shouldn’t belong in wars. On the edge of death, he feels no fear. The Rebellion has taught him many things but chief among them is calmness in death. He has been ready for this so he lets the light consume him.

 

Cassian wakes up the second time to a deep weight on his shoulder. It isn’t the first time. He used to wake up for days on end with a physical manifestation of his responsibilities weighing on every inch of his body. But his eyes blink once, twice, before adjusting to his surroundings. He registers the familiar metal body of a Resistance ship. Jyn is curled around at his feet, with Chirrut and Baze across from them, tangled in each other. The weight on his shoulder, it turns out, is Bodhi, sleeping soundly. His goggles are askew and he’s drooling but he doesn’t look any close to death.

“Captain,” a gentle voice says.

He looks up and sees a woman with curly hair and the traditional weathered hands of Resistance pilots.

“Where…?”

“Save your strength, Captain. You were pretty hurt. We’ll be home soon,” she says.

“Home?”

The woman kneels down so she’s at eye-level with him. “Yavin 4, Captain. I wasn’t gonna abandon you and your crew on the nearest inhabited planet.”

Yavin 4. The name brings a bone-deep tiredness to him. He finds a strange feeling growing inside him that tells him to just stay here, curled up in Bodhi’s warmth, near Jyn’s, and Chirrut’s and Baze’s. he’s never felt it before.

“We don’t have to go back to active duty,” the woman says softly. “We don’t have to tell anyone you’re back. Not unless you want to, not unless you’re ready.”

He looks back at his crew, notices all their injuries and traumas, and doesn’t want them back in the fight so soon. The cause is still important, of course it is, it’s been the only real thing in his life since he was a child. but he can’t help but feel he’s done his job. They’ve gotten the plans.  

“You’ve been doing this for twenty years. It’s not wrong to want a break.”

_Twenty years._

“Where will we go?” Cassian asks and it feels like defeat.

“We still have to go to Yavin 4 but you can stay at our home. You won’t be bothered there, though I do hope kids don’t bother you. We have a rather excited two-year-old son at home.”

“That should be fine,” even if he’s never had much experience with children and is more than slightly worried he might accidentally kill them.

The woman smiles, warm and sincere, and it’s one of the best things he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know your name,” he says.

“Shara. Shara Bey.”

“Call me Cassian, Shara, ‘captain’ is a bit too formal.”

“Will do, Cassian,” Shara says. She stands up. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

Beside him, Bodhi still sleeps. Cassian counts his breath only to three until he joins him. Somewhere in his mind, he thinks about how he wishes Kaytoo was here.

 

Shara wakes all of them up just as the ship door is opening. Bright light streams through and Cassian has Scarif flashbacks before the light dims down to reveal the lush greens of the Yavin 4 countryside. Bodhi wakes next to him, looking slightly embarrassed to have slept all over him for the whole journey but Cassian pays it no attention. He stands and looks over the landscape of their temporary home.

It’s like a village, small houses scattered around the land, each one looking as loved and colourful as the next. Shara landed the plane in a clearing behind one of the houses and, already, there is a crowd forming in front of it.

“Here,” Shara comes to his side and loops an arm around Bodhi, lifting him. Cassian notices the bloody bandage around Bodhi’s leg and feels guilt wrap around him as he helps. The rest of the crew follow in tow, faces confused but determined nonetheless.

Shara brings them towards an elderly woman whose features mirror Shara’s, along with her tan skin and dark curly hair. The woman looks Bodhi over, from his singed hair, dirty face and bleeding leg, even sparing a glance to Cassian.

“I can help,” she says. “Come.”

Cassian and Shara help Bodhi into the woman’s house, onto the rickety bed, where Bodhi lets out a breathe of relief and adjusts his body to better alleviate the pain.

“Go, he will be fine,” the woman says.

Cassian looks at him. Bodhi smiles awkwardly. “I’ll be fine, promise,” he says. It has been barely two days but Cassian already knows Bodhi is not the kind of man who lets go of promises easily.

He goes outside, meets Jyn, Chirrut and Baze in the sunlight. Chirrut is already making friends with the villagers, spreading smiles and kind words in their language, while Baze looks only mildly disgruntled. Jyn starts towards him and holds a tight grip on his arm.

“What happened, Cassian?” she asks.

“That woman, Shara Bey, she saved us. Saw us on the beach and brought us here,” he answers.

“And what happens now?” Baze asks.

Shara comes to them, accompanied by a strapping young man with a broad smile and a hand holding hers. “You stay here, you rest. We have a guest house you’re more than welcome to stay in.”

Baze looks at Chirrut, who is still hosting a myriad of scars, bruises and burns from the closeness of the explosion, and nods. “Rest sounds good.”

“Me and Kes still have to report in at the base but we’ll be home in a few hours. Poe is at the main house with his uncle but he won’t bother you, though he is two.”

“Poe?” Chirrut asks.

“Our son,” the man, who Cassian assumes is Kes, answers.

“I look forward to meeting him,” Chirrut says.

Kes and Shara lead them into the guest house, which affords little to no privacy but there is space enough for them. Two medium-sized beds, a living area with a couch, and a sizable shower, it’s more than enough. It’s decorated in the same style of the other houses, so there are bursts of colour around it but it’s actually calming. It looks like home. Homes he’s had have always had a tinge of militarization about them.

“A shower sounds good right now,” Chirrut says. He turns back to them. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian answers.

Chirrut disappears into the bathroom, leaving behind his weathered staff, and Baze wordlessly follows. Their subtle intimacy makes him want to smile. Though even smiling is too tiring a task for him.

Cassian slumps on the couch, kicking off his boots.

“Are you okay?” Jyn asks.

“I’m fine, Jyn,” Cassian says. “And you?”

Jyn smiles. “Well, considering our close brush with death, I’m alright.”

“Good to hear.”

Her eyes are full of something he can’t read. It reminds him of the sands on Scarif.

“I’m sorry.”

Cassian shakes his head. “You do not have to do this.”

“Yes, I do. We didn’t have time before but we do now,” she says. “I’m sorry. I did nothing to gain your trust. You did everything to have mine. I was angry at you, I called you a fucking Stormtrooper, I thought you were…”

“It’s fine, Jyn.”

“It’s not. A world died, Cassian. A world died and we held each other, the five of us, it’s not nothing. You were a kindness at the end of the world. I’m sorry to have thought you were anything less.”

After so long of feeling nothing, Cassian latches on to whatever she is giving him. He doesn’t know whether it is comfort or apprehension.

She reaches out to touch him but is scared to do it at the same time. He helps her, comes in close and leans his forehead against hers. He kisses her, soft, wanting nothing more. _I am alive, so are you_ , he is saying, _that is enough for now._

 

The next three hours are spent comfortable silence. No one wants to talk about Scarif but everyone holds it close like armour. Chirrut is the most cheerful of them all and Cassian remembers what he said about being in worse cages than the one in Jedha. How is it that a man who has suffered so much, felt his entire city crumble around him, has the brightest smile Cassian has ever seen?

A knock comes on the door. Cassian, now clad in a simple gray t-shirt and loose pants -the attire of all of them is basically what was left in the guest house which is comfortable sleepwear- goes to open it and finds a small young boy accompanied by a man in his thirties. Both share Shara’s expressions of warmth and Cassian wonders just how big her family is.

“Hello there,” the boy says with a wide smile. “Would you like food?”

Jyn giggles behind him.

“I’d love some.”

The man laughs. “I’m Gael,” he says, “and this charming young man is Poe. Kes and Shara are back and they’ve made dinner for you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, try telling my sister that,” Gael says.

“Well, alright then.”

They follow Gael and Poe, who talks non-stop about everything, into the main house which is only slightly bigger than the guest house and are greeted by a house full of smells of corn, chili, beef, rice, all the things he used to smell when his mother would make dinner. It happened rarely so Cassian learned to treasure those nights.

Around the table are Kes and Shara, who Poe sits in between of. They look tired but their smiles, when they come, are inviting.

They seat and, only when they do, Cassian realizes how hungry he is. He hasn’t since before Scarif. As they start eating, Cassian is woefully aware of the giant elephant in the room so he starts.

“So, how’s…everything?”

Kes and Shara share a look of concern.

“Please, I want to know. Did the plans…?”

“The Rebellion has it.”

Everyone breathes.

“We beamed the transmission to another ship, headed by Princess Leia,” Kes says.

“...Organa? Of Alderaan?”

“Yes. Her father, Bail Organa, gave his word that the princess could be trusted to deliver the message to a Jedi he knows.”

“A Jedi?” Baze asks. “Who is it?”

“I’m afraid that’s all top secret, but we’ve been ensured there is no bigger priority right now than to destroy the Death Star. And, thanks to you, we know how to,” Shara says. “You have delivered hope, Captain.”

“It wasn’t just me.”

Under the table, Jyn holds his hand.

He finishes one plate, and another under Poe’s insistence, then he asks, “Has Bodhi eaten?”

“No, Yana says he just woke up. His leg is healing but he needs crutches for a while.”

“Could I bring some food to him?”

Shara shrugs. “Sure. Pack extra,” she says. “That boy needs to eat. I don’t believe Empire has its employees’ health as a priority.”

The village seems alive, the houses lit with brightly-coloured lights and people’s laughter. The sky, too, seems alive. Somewhere in the stars, Princess Leia is traveling to meet a Jedi. Cassian’s never met a Jedi, has only heard of them from stories and hushed whispers in the street, but he believes in them. The Force, the mysticism and magic of it, has always eluded him but people, people he can believe in.

Bodhi is sitting up in bed, his leg elevated, when he sees Cassian. His goggles are off and his hair down, reaching to his shoulders.

“Cassian!” he says.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Cassian sits at the food of his bed. “Man, you look beautiful.”

“What?”

Bodhi blushes. “Uh,” he says. “Don’t take it personally. Yana has me on major painkillers. I’ve been waxing poetic at everyone.”

“Cute.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Bodhi smiles. “Uh, what have you brought?”

“Shara says they’re __tamales__  and that you have to eat at least a dozen of them,” Cassian says. “I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“Will you stay? To, uh, make sure I eat them?” Bodhi asks quickly.

“Of course.”

He passes the food to Bodhi who starts on them with the grace of a boy who probably hasn’t seen food beyond bland ones in the Empire mess hall. That is to say, with no grace at all.

“Would you like to talk?” Cassian asks.

“I’d like to listen,” Bodhi says. “Do you have any stories? My pa used to read me stories every night before I went to sleep.”

Cassian doesn’t want to ask about what happened to his father, afraid it’ll turn into another war story. So he gets comfortable, crosses his legs, and tells Bodhi a love story. He can’t remember anything else and, at this point, Bodhi deserves one.

That night, he curls into Jyn on their makeshift bed and, for the first time in forever, smiles.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taking maaaajooorrr creative license over cassian's backstory jsyk

The next few days go the same way. Starting with Jyn, ending with Bodhi, filling the time in between with Chirrut, Baze, Poe, Gael and the village that starts to fill him again with hope. Shara, Kes and Gael are adamant on not letting them work for a while and he reluctantly agrees.

So he basks in the roughness of Jyn’s affection, the way that it’s always wary and cautious but strong when she wants it to be. In the midst of morning kisses and casual touches, he knows that this is nothing more than easy comfort.

Jyn Erso, who has lived with war on the edge of her world for her entire life, can offer no more. And Cassian Andor, whose mouth and hands are bloody with acts of resistance, does not demand it of her.

Bodhi, however, is anything but easy. He surprises Cassian every time they meet. With a stubbornness that is relentless, especially in terms of wanting to speed up his healing; with a smile that starts something in Cassian’s cold dead heart; with startling intelligence and raw hopefulness.

He asks for stories about the Jedi, for love stories in a warzone, for fiction where no one ever dies and there is a happily ever after.

One day, though, he asks for something else.

“Tell me a story about you,” he says, tired from the painkillers and full from the food.

At first, he thinks he does not have good stories and the ones he does have are all the same. Boy goes into a warzone, boy fights, boy leaves with a little less of his heart than when he started.

“Once upon a time, on a planet not too far from here,” he starts, “a ship lands. A sole pilot, armed with only a rifle and unbeatable confidence, gets out. He had heard that there were hostages, innocent men and women, who were to be forced to work in labour camps for the Empire. They were prisoners of war and the pilot, who had seen nothing but war, wanted to save them. However, his commanding officers did not see it the same way. They could not afford the ships for a rescue mission so he decided to go out on his own.”

Bodhi sits up, eyes rapt.

“So he scours the city for hostages and finds them, cowering and frightened. He goes to rescue them, about a dozen of them, but he sees Stormtroopers guarding them. He is only one man, he cannot fight so many Stormtroopers on his own. He deliberates quitting, leaving these people behind and his heart heavy, but someone comes to his rescue, someone he recognizes.

“It is a soldier from the Rebellion. She has come to help him. Together, they take down the Stormtroopers, quietly, ruthlessly. They begin shuffling the hostages and find a surprise among them. A small baby, wrapped up in worn cloth. No one claims him. They bring him home to the Rebellion base, not knowing what to do with him.”

After a few seconds of silence, Bodhi asks, “What happened?”

“Under the light of a new moon, the pilot and soldier get married. They decide to name the baby Cassian.”

“The Empire took you,” Bodhi realizes.

“Yes, they did.”

“You could’ve been like me.”

Cassian laughs. “Not nearly as brave, though.”

 

The four of them are lying on the ground, in the clearing between all the houses. It was Jyn’s idea, a remnant of the past she shared with her parents when she was a child. So they look up, at all the stars, make up names and stories for each ones. Baze goes for humorous names, making all of them laugh. The grass is soft underneath his hands and so is Jyn beside him.

Chirrut stands up abruptly.

“Chirrut?” Baze asks, concern laced in his voice.

“I…felt something,” he answers. “Did you feel the same?”

Baze shakes his head. Chirrut is visibly shaken, his face normally so bright is now blank, not even responding to Baze’s hands as they touch the sides of his faces, as a kiss is pressed on his jaw.

Kes and Shara tell them soon after that Alderaan has been destroyed by the Death Star.

All of them cope in their own ways. Jyn leaves to be alone. Chirrut prays. Baze shoots trees in the forest until his bullets run out. Bodhi shakes awake. Cassian wraps his arms around him.

Maybe it’s the time he’s spent with Chirrut or the space of a planet that is no longer there or Bodhi’s smaller frame fitting perfectly into his body, but he says, “I am one with the force, the force is with me,” as he waits for Bodhi to fall back asleep.

 

The kitchen is full. Kes and Shara left early today but everyone, with the exception of Bodhi, piles into the kitchen, helping with breakfast. Gael and Baze are at the stove, cracking eggs into the skillet. Chirrut is bouncing Poe on his leg and Jyn is eating cereal at the table, sleep still in her eyes. It looks like a happy scene but it is less, somehow. Less of the people he has come to know.

“Morning,” he says to the crowd.

“Morning, Cassian!” Poe says cheerfully.

“ _Como estas, mijo_?”

“ _Muy bien_!”

The kid is cute, and vastly intelligent for his age. He talks, or tries to talk, in full sentences and every day latches on to something new he’s learned. Cassian leans down and kisses his forehead, causing Poe to giggle.

He reaches over to Jyn and kisses her, too, for good measure.

“How’d you sleep?” she asks.

“Meh,” he answers, stealing some of her cereal. “Bodhi kept waking me up.”

“He still asleep?”

“Yeah, I think we both fell asleep for a good few hours.” Cassian tilts his head towards her. “How are you feeling?” and then “How are all of you feeling?”

“All is,” Chirrut says slowly, “as the Force wills it.”

Even that is hard for him to say.

“Somehow, I have a hard time believing an entire planet’s destruction would be one of the Force’s priorities,” Baze says. He sits down next to his husband and Poe, serving them eggs.

“There must be a reason for it. We just have to trust…”

Cassian can almost feel everyone’s thoughts. _We just have to trust that the Force wanted us to feel like everything we did was for nothing?_

There is silence again, mournful. Then Jyn asks, “Had you ever been? To Alderaan?”

“No,” Cassian answers. “But I knew Bail. So it felt like I had. He talked about it constantly, about the tall mountains and coursing rivers, about his daughter and wife.”

He is dead now, Cassian realizes. A beautiful man, gone with his beautiful planet.

He bites back tears and looks to Gael.

“Is there any work in the village?” he asks because he needs to do something. His hands ache for a rifle or a ship but he has done enough of that for now. Even the touches of Jyn and Bodhi cannot quell that part of him.

“Gardening?” Gael says.

“Great. Gardening sounds great.”

 

“Aren’t you going to help?” Cassian asks Jyn.

He and Baze are pulling out the overgrown roots of the plants in order to make way for newer crops to feed the village, while Chirrut organizes the gardening equipment to help for the replanting. Jyn, however, is just sitting across from them in a loose t-shirt and shorts just watching them work.

“No, thanks, I’m just enjoying the view,” she says.

Baze barks out a loud laugh.

Cassian remembers that his shirt and vest were getting in the way a few minutes ago and pulled them off, revealing the dirty and sweaty skin underneath. Really, he should have figured. Jyn smirks.

“Well, can you at least help with throwing all this stuff away?” Cassian asks. “I’ll let you touch my biceps if you do.”

“Can I get a piece of that action?”

Cassian looks up and sees Bodhi, smile radiant, lit by the sun behind him like it’s an ever-present halo. _Oh, god._

“Uh,” Cassian starts but is then consumed with a whole other set of feelings. He jumps to his feet. “Should you even be walking?”

“I have my crutches, see, so I’m not _really_  walking,” Bodhi says.

Jyn comes up to them with a lawn chair and helps Bodhi onto it. “See?” Bodhi says. “All good. Now I can not-help like Jyn.”

Cassian makes a face before returning to his work.

“You make that same face when you’re sleeping,” Bodhi says off-handedly.

“What?”

“That judgey face.”

Jyn laughs. “Oh, I know. Sometimes I wake up before he does and I think he’s judging me for my posture.”

Deep inside, he just thinks, _sleeping with both of them was a mistake_.

“Chirrut, I don’t know how comfortable I am with the Captain’s ever-growing fan club,” Baze says, quietly.

“Please, Baze, you adore him, too.”

“Yes but don’t tell him that.”

 

He comes to Bodhi earlier than he’s used to and sees Chirrut and Baze at the foot of his bed.

They notice immediately.

“Sorry, I can come back later,” Cassian says hurriedly.

“No, it’s fine. Me and Baze were about to leave,” Chirrut says. He gets up and kisses Bodhi on the forehead. Baze, clearly not used to having their time interrupted, awkwardly does the same. When they leave, Cassian takes their place, his normal spot on Bodhi’s bed, giving him a great angle to peer up to Bodhi’s face.

“Do they come here often?” Cassian asks.

“Almost every day. Not as much as you, though,” Bodhi says. “So you’re still special in my heart.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Life, I guess. And the Force. That always seems to crop up,” Bodhi says. “Do you know how they met?”

Cassian gives a small laugh. “Yeah, Chirrut was fighting some people who were being disrespectful outside of the temple.”

“And Baze wanted to step in but Chirrut was just like ‘I got it covered’.” Bodhi’s laugh turns down into a soft, small smile. “Imagine meeting someone like that and then getting to spend thirty years together. More than half their lives.”

Cassian can’t imagine it. He always knew he was going to die young. The Rebellion was never going to grow old and get settled; it was supposed to die in a fire, engulfed in their cause. Legends, bedtime stories, legacies; never a village like this and living out the rest of their days. He wonders if Bodhi knew that when he defected; that he would never get a chance to live a love like Chirrut and Baze’s, that he’d lie awake some nights and get a deep ache in his chest, wondering what if, what if, what if.

Because he can imagine Bodhi on a hill somewhere, flowers in the hair he would grow out again, breathing in the breeze and enjoying the peace hundreds of dead or dying Rebellion soldiers brought him. It’s not because Cassian thinks Bodhi can’t handle the fight, because he __can__ , it’s because Bodhi deserves one good thing in his life. Cassian finds he does not mind dying to give that to him.

“Hey,” Bodhi’s voice brings him back. “Do something for me?”

 _Anything._  “Sure.”

“Cut my hair?”

“Why?”

“Are you kidding me? Like half of it is gone. I’d rather have a short haircut than deal with these flyaway hairs.” Bodhi rummages through his bedside table and comes out with a pair of scissors. “Here. It’ll be quick, come on.”

Cassian lays down a towel on the bed and sits up behind Bodhi. He remembers that his father used to cut his hair for him, then members of his squadron, one eventful time it was Mon Mothma who was close to scolding him for having hair that went past his shoulders.

He’s careful with Bodhi, shaving off the baby hairs near his neck. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Bodhi but ignores it in favour of making sure he doesn’t look like a complete idiot because of Cassian. His hands ghost around Bodhi’s scalp, at the nape of his neck, his jaw.

This was a mistake.

Every inch of Bodhi feels so good underneath his hands and is so damn responsive.

He wants to keep going but he finds himself saying, “I think you’re done,” before he even knows it.

Bodhi clears his throat. “Do I look good?”

“Beautiful.” and he does. The short hair fits him, cleaner and more mature.

Bodhi turns red. “Do you, uh, have to go back to Jyn?” he asks awkwardly

“No, I think I’ll stay here tonight.” even if his mind is shouting for him not to. He doesn’t deserve Bodhi. “Is that okay?”

Bodhi answers, “Yes,” and the heavens open.

They clean up and lean against each other to talk, about everything, about anything, about nothing. Bodhi tells him about Galen Erso, how he was the first person in years to believe him but, thanks to Cassian, not the last. He tells him what he can remember about his family and how it’s not a lot. The boy is so full of stories but he doesn’t want to tell him. Not yet. But that’s okay. Cassian can wait.

He tells Cassian about Alderaan.

“Did we sacrifice ourselves for nothing?” Bodhi asks.

“No. It wasn’t for nothing,” Cassian says. “Princess Leia is still out there. She’ll finish what we started. Or someone else will. The fight doesn’t end, Bodhi, it just has different faces.”

Bodhi faces away from him on the bed. Cassian adjusts and wraps his arms around him, his face resting against Bodhi’s neck.

“When I dream, I dream of Scarif,” Bodhi says.

“Me, too.”

“Do you ever wish we died there?”

Cassian thinks about it. No more duties, no more responsibility, just a bright light erasing every bad he’s ever done; all the murder and death and lies. But then he thinks about this, about this small bed and the bed he shares with Jyn and the village he shares with everyone else.

“Not right now.”

Bodhi sacrificed everything to get here. He defected, knowing full well what that would get him. How did such a cruel a place give birth to a man so soft, so gentle, so terrified of all the bad he’s ever done? Bodhi gives him hope, a real and tangible kind. Bodhi Rook is hope itself in human form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #chirrutisforcesensitive


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly thank you for all the lovely comments!! i hope yall had a happy festive season and omg there's one more chapter to this!!

When he was younger, he was forced into a very strict routine as part of training for the Rebellion. Breakfast at dawn, basic schooling until noon, barely an hour of break before he was consumed by physical, pilot and intelligence training until nightfall. He had gotten used to it.

Even now, his body knows when to wake up even when he doesn’t need to. Before, he always had something to do. Fix the appliances in the guest house, taking care of Poe, housework to keep his military mind busy until everyone else woke up at a normal hour. But now, he finds that he doesn’t want to move.

He has never really woken up with Bodhi before. His eyelashes cast shadows on his face, his lips slightly open, his chest steadily rising and falling. Cassian thinks he might be owed this, before Bodhi wakes up. A soft touch tracing his cheekbones, an aching wanting he’s never felt.

Bodhi wakes up almost immediately and Cassian pulls back his hand.

“Mm,” Bodhi says unintelligibly. He burrows himself further into the pillows, refusing to face the sunlight. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Did I wake you? Jyn says I have the tendency to have nightmares sometimes.”

Bodhi makes a disagreeing noise. “No,” he answers. He opens his eyes and all Cassian can see is brown, brown, endless sun-kissed brown. “You slept fine with me.”

“I guess I did.”

“You know, you don’t actually have to wake up at this cursed hour anymore,” Bodhi says.

“I’ve been trying,” Cassian says. “What did you use to do in the morning?”

Bodhi stretches, his long lean body taking up space in the small bed. “Depends whether I was on base or in my ship.”

“Which one did you like better?”

“My ship,” Bodhi says, looking almost shy. “My cargo trips used to take me weeks, maybe months at a time. It was just me and a bunch of holovids and an Imperial droid sometimes.”

“Like Kaytoo?”

“Yeah. Less sarcastic, though,” Bodhi says. “In the ship, I was left to my own devices. I’d only have to check in with the Empire every few hours but, other than that, I was free. Sometimes I’d drop by a planet to gamble, sometimes I wouldn’t. It must sound pathetic, just being alone like that, but, to be honest, being alone with my own thoughts was better than being with the Empire all the time.”

This boy keeps choosing a way out of darkness every damn time.

“My last trip was about two weeks. I didn’t think that would be the last time I’d see my ship again,” he says. “I was assigned to Eadu, to Galen. And then everything changed. And then I…chose.”

Cassian realizes just how much he owes Galen Erso. This man, who was once a target at the end of his sniper rifle, has given so much to him. He gave him the Death Star plans, Jyn, Bodhi.

He knows Bodhi would’ve made it out of the Empire eventually but probably not like this. Not safe like this, not in his arms like this.

“Go back to sleep,” Cassian says.

“Are you?” Bodhi asks.

“No. I’m going to go to the garden.” With that, he gets up from the bed, however hard it might be.

“What are you planting?”

“Mostly vegetables, some herbs, things the village can eat,” Cassian says. “Do you have any requests?”

Bodhi thinks about it, eyes to the ceiling. “Flowers,” he says.

 

The evening finds him sweaty, covered in dirt and Jyn beside him, not caring. She kisses the stubble on his jaw and he laughs.

He forgot how sex  with someone could actually be _fun_. 

They catch their breathing and Jyn is oddly silent, after. 

“Cassian,” she says slowly. “How long are we staying here?”

“I don’t know.”

It has been four days. Four days since they gave the Death Star plans, four days since Princess Leia started her journey, and things have changed. He feels as though months or even years have passed with the amount of change it has brought but it has been four days. Jyn must feel it, too, this stretching of days.

“Chirrut and Baze want to leave,” Jyn says and Cassian’s entire world wants to shatter.

“Why?”

“They have spent their entire lives dedicated to one thing and now that thing is gone. They cannot find it here. They don’t belong here,” Jyn says. “Neither do we.”

“I know, I…”

“We don’t have to talk about it now. Bodhi still needs to heal, and Chirrut and Baze won’t leave without saying goodbye. I just…thought I’d ask.”

Cassian calms himself down with the sounds of Jyn’s breathing before, “What about you? Will you leave?”

It is a rational thought, one he does not want to become a fear, because Jyn has been running her entire life. From her father, then from Saw, and forever from the Empire. Whatever roots she was born with have rotted away. He is not that foolish to think he would be enough to make her stay.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly because, since Scarif, all they’ve been with each other is honest.

“Okay.” He kisses her, feeling her relax under him.

For some reason, that makes her laugh.

“What?” he asks.

“Just wondering,” she says, running her hands through his hair, “have you told Bodhi how you felt about him?”

Cassian groans. “You know, Baze said he was making dinner, we should go hel-”

“Nope, you’re not getting away from this.” She flips them so that she’s on top, her straddling his hips. She leans back and crosses her arms and Cassian wonders how a woman so small and so much less clothed than him has the upper hand in this. “Come on.”

“Come on, what?”

“You like him,” Jyn says.

“Yes, everyone does.”

Jyn sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“Even if I did, he’s…” _too good for me_.

Jyn kisses him on his brow. “He looks at you like you’re something special, Cassian. Trust me. I’ve given you that look many a time.”

He smiles.

“Think about it, Cassian. We don’t know how long this calm will last. I think you’d like to spend some of it with him.” He does, and that’s the problem. Hands like his were never meant to catch the light of people like Bodhi Rook.

Jyn seems to catch it, that apprehension, and stops asking. She climbs off him and puts on his t-shirt.

“Come on,” she says. “Dinner, right?”

“Right.”

 

The main house smells like fresh vegetables, fragrant meat and steaming rice. Baze has already started cooking. He has tied up his shaggy hair into a messy bun and is wearing a pink apron. Cassian tries to remember that this man is fully capable of killing everyone in this room as he holds back his laughter.

“You two!” he says when Cassian and Jyn come into the kitchen. “I need help.”

“Why isn’t Chirrut helping?” Jyn asks, seeing him at the kitchen table with Bodhi, simply cleaning his staff.  

“He’s not allowed to cook anymore,” Baze says.

“It was one time!” Chirrut yells out.

“One time that burned an entire section of the temple. Not again.”

Jyn and Cassian just give each other knowing looks.

They do as Baze instructs, as does Bodhi, cutting up onions and cabbages and tossing them in the skillet. Cassian has noticed multiple times that Baze and Chirrut are decidedly more affectionate with Bodhi than they are with Jyn or Cassian. Though Baze does still call Jyn ‘ _mei mei_ ’, it’s almost nothing to how soft he becomes around Bodhi. Cassian understands. They are all children of Jedha, whatever is left of the city is in each other.

“Come,” Baze says now to Bodhi. He sits next to him, showing him how to put together the dish. “Can you do it?”

“Yeah, _abbu_ , I’m fine,” Bodhi says sarcastically. Baze uncharacteristically blushes before going back to the stove. Bodhi doesn’t seem to notice and turns to Chirrut. “What are we making?”

“Dumplings,” Chirrut answers. “Baze used to make them for the rest of the guardians every week.”

His hands move gracefully around the table, spooning some of the filling onto a thin piece of dough. He folds it over, pinching the sides, and then putting it to the side before starting on another one.

“The rest of the guardians…where are they?” Bodhi asks.

“Most were killed, others left,” Chirrut answers.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Jyn asks.

“That temple was my home for so long, I was willing to die to protect it. I couldn’t leave it,” he says, “and Baze wouldn’t leave me.”

Before long, Chirrut (with Baze sometimes interrupting) starts telling stories of their glory days; war stories with pure love always making its way in them. The dumplings are finished before Kes and Shara get home but they’re all still enraptured by Chirrut’s stories. It feels as though he has been waiting to tell these stories for a long while but had no one to listen to them.

Kes and Shara come in, shoulders slumped but faces bright as they always are. Poe follows them, a tiny figure at their feet. All of them look surprised by the smells of the kitchen.

“Baze made dinner,” Bodhi says, by way of explaining.

Kes puts a hand on Bodhi’s shoulder. “I can see that, my good man. We will be ready in a bit. Take care of Poe for a while, will you?”

“Of course.”

Poe comes to them, full of excitement and happiness. Jyn is right. They have to leave at some point, but the thought of leaving Poe hurts him more than it should.

Poe sits on Cassian’s lap and does not leave it even after they’ve finished eating. He plays with Bodhi, makes __pewpew__  sounds with an X-Wing figurine in his hands, reaches up and touches Cassian’s hair. It’s a good distraction from both Shara and Kes’s uncharacteristic silence. It must have been a tough day at the Resistance. Cassian knows what it’s like.

Shara’s eyes keep making short glances at Cassian, each time consumed with different feelings; from concern, forced happiness, to anger.

It is hours later and everyone is sated from food and conversation. Baze, like Shara, always makes enough to feed thousands and the dumplings are to be distributed around the village. Bodhi’s the first one to volunteer.

“You should rest,” Cassian says.

“Hey, I’m fine. I’ve got Jyn and Chirrut. If I’m hurting, I’ll yell,” Bodhi says. He leans down and ruffles up Poe’s hair. Poe is already yawning and burrows into Cassian’s arms. “Man, that is one adorable kid.”

“An adorable kid that needs to go to sleep,” Shara says, getting up. Poe wakes up for that, to say an indignant, “Noooo.”

“ _Si, mijo _.__  Cassian, help me with him?”

Cassian wordlessly wraps his arms around Poe and lifts him. He hasn’t spent that much time in the main house so he wordlessly follows Shara up the rickety stairs of the house, the walls covered in holos of Poe, Kes, and Shara at different stages of their lives. Poe as a tiny baby, wrapped up in a blue blanket, Kes and Shara in pilot uniforms, Kes with a raggedy beard and a tailored suit.

The nursery is colourful, just like the rest of the house and village, and messy. It’s littered with toys and figurines on the floor, half-read books and torn-down building blocks. Cassian makes a note to help clean the room later if Shara lets him.

He wonders if the reason everything about the place Poe will grow up in is bright and cheerful is because his parents don’t want him to remember anything bad about his childhood. It’s a beautiful sentiment. What Cassian can remember about his childhood is muted in hues of brown and gray.

Cassian puts Poe down at his crib. Shara tucks him in with blankets and a soft toy.

“Say good night, my boy,” she says.

“Night, mama,” Poe slurs, already half-asleep. “Night, Cass.”

Cassian’s heart grows in his chest.

He kneels down and starts cleaning the stuff on the floor, which includes a drawing of Poe and Shara in what he assumes is an A-Wing.

“He really wants to be like you,” Cassian says.

“Yes, he does,” Shara says wistfully. “That’s what scares me.”

“You’re not a bad role model.”

Shara sits down on the floor, leaning against Poe’s crib, and Cassian mimics her. “What happened, Shara? Did the Death Star-?”

“No, it’s not that,” she says, “Princess Leia…it’s a long story. She’s here. She has the plans, she’ll know what to do. Everyone is gearing up to go.”

“To do what?”

“To destroy the Death Star.” Shara’s eyes are determined. “And they will.”

“When do they move out?”

“At first light.”

“I should-”

“That’s exactly why I was scared of telling you, Cassian. You shouldn’t. you don’t have to be on one of those ships flying out tomorrow.” Shara holds his hand.

Cassian looks down at their entwined fingers. “But I…I don’t know anything else,” he says. “Everything I’ve done has been for the Rebellion. If I don’t do this, then I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you _want_ to do?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. “This.”

Staying in this village, spending his days gardening and surrounded by people he cares about, with Jyn, with Bodhi.

“You are only one man, Cassian. One man is not obligated to save the galaxy.”

“But you know as well as I do. One person has the ability to change everything.” Bodhi, Princess Leia, Shara.

“It doesn’t have to be you.”

His eyes burn. “Why did you save us?”

“Because it’s what we do, because it’s what I hope Poe does when he grows up.” Shara strokes the skin of his hand. “When we’re gone, all I can hope for is that Poe someday gives someone else the same chance we gave you. To live.”

“I need to go.”

He pulls his hands away from Shara, as if it burns him and it does. From the inside out, as he runs down the stairs, as he makes his way deep into the forest, past the section of the garden he dedicated solely to Bodhi’s flowers; it burns. Every part of his body seems to shake, seems to be engulfed in flames no one else can see, and he realizes, this is the first time he’s been alone in days.

And here’s a cursed truth: he was scared to be alone.

Jyn gives him comfort, Bodhi brings him hope, Chirrut calmness, Baze strength, Shara kindness.

The only thing he gives himself is pain.

Twenty years of pain and resistance and blood. He falls to the ground, a panic curling around his throat. All these years, all this fighting has chipped away the things about himself he liked and now he doesn’t know who he is. If he was someone else looking in, would he like what he saw? A broken man who wore the armour of an important cause to justify all his sins; who was incapable of giving the people he cared about justice; who was so _tired_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for everything!! this was such a nice story to write, bless these characters. 
> 
> also! the rating went up in this chapter whoo

_I am one with the force, the force is with me._

He wakes slowly, first adjusting to the noises; Chirrut’s familiar voice, his steady breathing; then the feel of a warm body next to him, on the same soft sheets; the sight of the ceiling fan going round and round.

“Cassian,” Chirrut says as he comes towards him. He puts a hand on Cassian’s forehead, brushes away his fringe for good measure.

“What happened?” Cassian asks, his voice raw and rough. He wants to sit up but, next to him, Jyn is still sleeping.

“We found you in the forest and brought you here.”

“How long was I-” He does sit up then, remembering. “Have they gone?”

Chirrut sighs, concern lacing his entire face. “Yes, Cassian. They left an hour ago. We haven’t heard anything yet but we will. Try not to worry yourself.”

Jyn wakes up then. Her hands waste no time, they find his instantly. “Cassian,” her voice is soft. He wonders how many hours she’s spent by his bedside, trying to comfort him.

“Why didn’t you go?” Cassian asks.

The both of them share a glance. The room is silent for a few seconds, long enough for Cassian to be filled again with self-doubt and guilt. He swims in it, the confusion of not being strapped into an A-Wing and getting ready to die again, until Chirrut says, “Our captain needed us here.”

And that, that Cassian doesn’t understand. His existence has never weighed more than the fight.

“Bodhi wanted to know when you woke up. Rest, Cassian. What’s done is done.”

Jyn leans in closer to him, until there isn’t a closer.

“Your father would’ve-”

“My father would’ve wanted me to be alive,” Jyn says, already knowing where he was going. “And I am. Don’t you ever get tired, Cassian, of holding the weight of entire galaxies?”

 _All the time_.

“I’ve been running from the fight for as long as I can remember and that makes me a coward, I know that. I’ve seen what this war has done to people and I didn’t want to be a shadow of my father, of Saw, of all the men who saw me and made me more vicious than when they found me,” she says. “All of them, they didn’t put their faith in me, they put their faith in someone like you being at right place at the right time, in Bodhi and his bravery, in Chirrut and Baze.”

He has never noticed -how Jyn’s hands seem rougher than his.

“Now it’s time for you to put that same faith in someone else. Let hope exchange hands.”

The door opens and Bodhi walks in, without his crutches. He’s still limping as he makes his way to Cassian’s bed but there is a certain kind of happiness to seeing him walk on his own. Jyn kisses Cassian on the corner of his mouth and leaves, touching her lips to Bodhi’s cheek, as well.

“You worried me,” Bodhi says.

“We’re in a war, Bodhi, I’m always going to worry you.”

“But this was because of you, because you didn’t talk to anyone about whatever the hell you were feeling. Not Jyn or Shara or me. You just let yourself burn out by yourself,” Bodhi’s voice is growing in ferocity, in anger. “That’s not fucking fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“Don’t you understand that you mean something to everyone here? Not just as a captain. But as a _friend._ ”

Bodhi leans forward and so does Cassian, meeting him halfway. He wishes for a kiss but feels Bodhi’s forehead against his, breath so close. He has never met someone who pulls his soul like Bodhi does and he doesn’t even know. The weight of Bodhi’s single act of bravery is the reason why those ships are in the air, why they have a fighting chance. Bodhi should be a larger than life, intimidating creature whose actions have somehow defined them all but here he is, a boy in his bed, who seems to care so deeply about him.

“You…you gave up your entire life for this fight,” Cassian says, out of the blue.

“No,” Bodhi says, pulling away slightly. “I ran away from a life that would’ve killed me…for peace. I still have a life, Cassian. With them,” he gestures to outside the door, where everyone they’ve grown to care about are waiting, “with you.”

Cassian’s mind still feels blurry but Bodhi is the sole point of clarity. He closes the space between them and kisses him. It should feel like a mistake, with the way Bodhi is still in shock and Cassian’s own growing self-doubt, but then, _but then_.

Bodhi kisses the exact opposite of how Cassian would expect: he’s pushy and fierce and desperate. It’s still an awkward angle, with Cassian sitting up on the bed and Bodhi with his body turned, his feet still on the ground because of his injury, but it doesn’t matter. Bodhi’s mouth is wet, open, responsive, but so, so loving it aches. His open mouthed kisses travel from Cassian’s lips, to the corner of his mouth, to his jaw, his cheek, his neck. Everywhere, everywhere, he feels Bodhi everywhere. He feels like he’s being consumed by him.

“Hey, here,” Cassian has the forethought to say.

His body doesn’t hurt, not anymore, not when Bodhi’s here like this. He manuevers them cautiously so Bodhi is lying down on the bed and Cassian is straddling his hips, careful not to hurt his injured leg. He doesn’t know how long it’s been but Bodhi already looks _wrecked_. His lips are red, his eyes blown, his cheeks high in colour, his breathing heavy.

Fuck.

Cassian leans back down, kisses Bodhi’s mouth again, feeling the soft moan. His hands are in Bodhi’s hair, tugging at the short hairs on his neck, wishing it was long again. He kisses his way down to Bodhi’s neck, tasting his pulse in sweat, and wants to go lower. “Can I?”

“Anything.”

He gingerly trails his hands up the layers Bodhi puts on -too many, in his opinion- and lifts. Cassian expected this, this small, thin frame with a side of slight malnutrition, but there are muscles, too, a soft definition around his torso and arms, a side-effect from years of piloting and hauling cargo across the galaxies. Because he knows Bodhi might feel self-conscious, Cassian makes quick work of his shirt, as well, throwing it to the floor. His body is bruised and cut in various places but Bodhi still leans up to kiss him.

With Jyn, it’s always like a fight, like someone is trying to one-up someone else. It feels rough and fun at the same time, a shot of adrenaline whenever they do this but this is something else. This is water flowing, a palpable, gentle and dangerous thing; this is all the stories Chirrut has told them about the Force. Something good yet powerful, with the ability to heal and kill, something that moves through everyone and everything. this, for him, is safe. And Cassian has never felt safe in his life.

Cassian grinds down, earning him a low groan from Bodhi, and insistent hands on his hips. They should take their time, Cassian is thinking, they should take it slow, strip off every layer of clothes they have remaining but he does it again, addicted to the sounds Bodhi is making.

“Please,” Bodhi is saying but Cassian doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

Bodhi is hard under him, where he’s pushing down; everything is pulsing in his ears, rising, rising, with every hitched breath and every slow roll of his hips, rising until.

They watch each other come and Cassian feels like he’s having a religious experience.

When their breathing lulls, trying to catch it under the weight of what just happened, Bodhi laughs. Cassian leans down, burying his face in Bodhi’s neck, and laughs, too, not really knowing why.

“Shit,” Bodhi says. “You made me come in my pants. I haven’t done that since I was _fifteen_.”

“But the experience must be better than when you were fifteen.”

Bodhi strokes Cassian’s hair. “Only slightly,” he says. “Next time, we’re taking off our pants.”

Cassian’s heart wraps around the words _next time._  “Deal.”

Cassian arranges them again, so he’s at Bodhi’s side now.

“We could go,” Bodhi says suddenly.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Away from this. Follow Chirrut and Baze back to Jedha,” he says. “We’ve given enough, don’t you think?”

Cassian purposely ignores Bodhi’s question. “They’re going back to Jedha? What is there for them?”

“An entire planet, a chance to rebuild, maybe even the hope of finding my family, if they’re still alive.”

There’s that word again: hope.

“They’re even talking about traveling to find the last Jedi temple. We could go anywhere, Cassian. Don’t you want that?”

“I want you,” Cassian says. “And Jyn, and everyone else, to be safe.”

“We want that for you, too.”

“What about Jyn? She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to stay with anyone for very long.”

“She might. For you.” Bodhi kisses Cassian again, with no hint of desperation this time, only soft reassurance. “There is more than one way to change the universe. Think about it.”

After a while, Cassian doesn’t know how long, Jyn comes into the room. Eyes bright, she tells them they’ve won. The Rebellion’s won.

 

They follow Shara and Kes to the medal ceremony in the morning, only they’re wearing hoods and capes, standing way at the back so no one recognizes them. Cassian thinks, even if they are noticed, these are wounded soldiers still high from wars. Ghosts of fallen heroes might be a good sign.

There are about a hundred people packed into the hall, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and talking among themselves. At the front, Cassian sees Princess Leia in all white, her hair up and her eyes focused, determined, hopeful. She has lost her entire planet, her family and friends, yet she stands taller than any of them.

The triumphant music of the band starts up as their heroes walk in. A teenager, really, not much younger than Jyn is, with blonde hair and an excited smile, accompanied by an older man with a rugged look and a Wookie by his side. These are the faces of the Rebellion’s new hope. There are rumours circling, about how the young Luke Skywalker is a Jedi, born of the ashes of the war, and Chirrut seems to agree.

“The Force,” he said, “moves with him. He is strong with it.”

That is something unbelievable to Cassian, even more than the fact that they actually managed to kill the Death Star, that there might be Jedis still.

No one speaks. No one has to.

Beside him, Bodhi holds his hand. Jyn, too, leans closer and says, “You did good, Cassian.”

For a second, he honestly believes that.

 

Poe is crying. Big, fat, little kid tears. It’s honestly breaking Cassian’s heart.

“Don’t go,” he’s saying, tugging on Cassian’s sleeves. “Please.”

“I have to.”

Kes managed to commandeer a slightly run-down ship from base. He and Bodhi have been working on it for the past few days and it’s only now ready to fly. They’ve all pretty much said their goodbyes to everyone in the village. The last stop is the Damerons. Shara and Kes have been ready for this, barely showing any emotion except for happiness but Poe is a completely different story.

He’s slobbering tears over everyone.

Cassian kneels down, so he’s at eye-level with Poe’s red face, splotchy from crying. “Hey. _Te quiero mucho_ , you know that, right?”

Poe nods.

“I’ll miss you, I promise I will.”

Cassian kisses him on the forehead.

He doesn’t feel right with leaving, he’s still coming to terms with it, but he knows he has to. This planet does not need any more ghosts. They’ll die here, a shadow of their former selves, who rode into a warzone with a stolen ship and called themselves rogues. As soon as they step onto that ship, another stolen ship, they’ll leave that part of them behind. Cassian Andor and the crew of Rogue One died. Whoever is leaving today is someone else entirely.

Cassian stands, looking at Shara and Kes. “He won’t remember me,” he says.

“Maybe not as his babysitter,” Shara says with a sad smile. “But he’ll remember you as a story.”

He looks back at his crew and can already imagine the fables they’ll become. He kisses Shara, and then Kes, on the cheek. “Make it a really good one.”

All of them bring their belongings onto the ship and, just as they’re ready to leave, Bodhi goes missing. Cassian isn’t worried, Bodhi’s the one most anxious to leave and he wouldn’t do anything stupid to jeopardize that but he tries to find him nonetheless. It shouldn’t surprise him when he finds him standing over the garden they all built. They’re growing in nicely, should be ready in a few months.

“Look,” Bodhi says. He points at another section of the garden.

Cassian kisses him, slow. He’ll never tire of this. The flowers he planted are grown, beautiful shades of red and green.

 

For the next few years, people will hear stories about a group of masked heroes roaming the streets of Jedha. They only come out when Imperial forces are strong, are terrorizing the peaceful people there. They fight with batons and staffs, stolen rifles and guns, pure intelligence and technological savvy. When the cries have died down, the Stormtroopers fought, they leave.

As the Battle of Endor is won, the people of Jedha celebrate in the streets. They have rebuilt the city, little by little. Most, if not all, will recall seeing five people, hoods and capes up, at the sidelines of the celebrations. They will recall their shadowed, smiling faces, and the love and relief they all seem to share.

 

Luke Skywalker shows his _padawan_  the last Jedi temple. It is a ruinous thing, years of abuse rotting the stone away. Rey notices two crudely-made gravestones near the entrance, with names she is only vaguely familiar with.

“Who are they?’ Rey asks.

Luke has a wistful smile. “Old friends.”

 

When Poe Dameron is thirty-two, he sits up in bed, his arms wrapped around a brave boy with a scar running along his back and a warrior girl whose bright eyes bring him strength. He tells them stories, ones he knows best. The brave and handsome Captain Cassian Andor, who led a crew of heroes. _Rebellions_ , Poe recalls from his mother’s retelling of the stories, _are built on hope_.

When Poe Dameron is thirty-two, Cassian Andor is approaching sixty and the flowers his husband planted are blooming.


End file.
